


if my wishes came true, it would've been you

by slylyaddictedtostories



Category: Rome (TV 2005)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, F/M, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Porn with Feelings, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:28:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28913883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slylyaddictedtostories/pseuds/slylyaddictedtostories
Summary: Atia of the Julii loved to play games and, most importantly, she loved winning. Getting involved with Mark Antony just meant playing another game, albeit a dangerous one. Atia loved danger.But falling in love with Mark Antony...that was Atia losing...
Relationships: Mark Antony/Atia of the Julii, Mark Antony/Cleopatra VII of Egypt
Kudos: 5





	if my wishes came true, it would've been you

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, guys!  
> So, I just finished binge-watching HBO's Rome. Boy, was that a ride! A truly epic tragedy.  
> James Purefoy as Mark Antony was simply incredible and Polly Walker is my newest muse - both amazing actors, severely underrated. Of course, even historically, Antony and Cleopatra are endgame, but for me, his entire story with Atia was so beautifully written and their chemistry was wonderful so... this fic came out!  
> I really hope you enjoy!
> 
> P.S.: title taken from Taylor Swift's song "the 1"

Atia of the Julii loved to play games and, most importantly, she loved winning. Getting involved with Mark Antony just meant playing another game, albeit a dangerous one. Atia loved danger.

But falling in love with Mark Antony...  
that was Atia losing...

**********

Atia was no stranger to love-making. She'd had her fair share of slaves and young patricians and was fairly certain in what she enjoyed, in terms of sexual pleasures. She was willing to try almost anything and she had already probably done so. However, being taken by force on her wedding night, simply because her husband was a drunk brute, was not something she eagerly welcomed.

_She had kept her eyes tight shut during the entire time, unable to relax her muscles, clutching at the sheets until her knuckles turned white._

Her groans of pain and revulsion did nothing to dissuade him - on the contrary, the old bastard thought she was enjoying herself, so he simply kept on thrusting. Atia placidly observed that he looked and sounded like a dying mule, riding his last moments of life before collapsing in a disgusting, miserable heap on her lap. She scoffed, rolling from beneath Mark Balbus' fat, snoring form, gently wrapping herself in a damp sheet, resting on her side, on the far edge of the bed. 

It was the worst fuck of her life. She felt like crying, but she was Atia of the Julii - she would not show such weakness.

**********

She was not a particularly pious person. She never believed she should be grateful to a bunch of stone statues invented by men to justify their desperate wish for an afterlife. But if she were to believe in a higher power, she would have to thank (or curse) destiny for pushing Mark Antony in her path. 

It was a party, nothing special - just like hundreds of others she had attended. They were celebrating another Roman victory in Gaul, where Caesar's young general had proven a great asset. Atia was somewhat curious to meet this man, this great fighter every soldier was boistering about (and every woman fussing over), but her evening had been rather dull.

That was before she met the lion.

She had seen lions before, of course. Golden majestic beasts, with an appetite for violence. True Romans. But this one... this one had something Atia could not quite point out.

His eyes were dark, alluringly so, filled with mischief and a depth that ( _not really_ ) took her breath away.

He wasn't smiling - he had a self satisfied smirk on his face that made Atia's palm itch to slap him ( _and her lips itch to kiss him_ ).

He bent down slightly, took her ring-adorned hand in his big, warm palm and pressed an open mouthed kiss on her skin. 

_(It was simply chilly at night, her shiver had nothing to do with how soft his lips had felt)_

"It's a beautiful evening", he remarked, eyes never leaving her face.

"Indeed it is," she offered him a dazzling smile.

**********

Atia was no stranger to love-making. But this was like nothing else she had ever felt. Every inch of her skin was on fire, her blood boiling in her veins, her heart thudding in her head, the only coherent thought left in her mind being of _oh, how good his mouth felt on her neck_.

He was skilled, she had to admit. He carried her in his arms as if she weighed nothing, pressing his huge chest against her, pinning her to the wall. His mouth was on her pulse point, nibbling at her fevrish skin, her hands were in his hair, pulling desperately, and his hands, _gods, his hands,_ were tugging at her purple robes, sneaking under her veils, tiptoeing teasingly all the way up to her core. She felt the thrill of his touch all the way to her toes, curling in pleasure. He kissed her lips hungrily, her neck, her shoulder, her breasts, her stomach, going lower and lower, infuriatingly slow. When he finally kissed her between her legs, she truly felt like she might faint.

His appearance was very similar to the marble sculptures of heroes she used to admire when she was little. He was a war hero too, after all, he probably had to meet some standards. If Atia had not been so lost in her ecstasy, she might have been scared by how perfectly his body moulded in hers, like two perfectly cut emeralds. The feeling of him inside of her, stretching her, pushing her limits, making her scream, was not new - but she wasn't sure if it had ever felt so exhilarating.

_She kept her fluttering eyes shut, all her muscles completely relaxed, clutching desperately at the sheets until her knuckles turned white._

Atia noticed how his muscles, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, glistened in the candlelight, how his gentle moans drowned in her hair. He remembered her of a young, reckless stallion, galloping freely over hills and fields and open seas and, for a single, fleeting moment, lost in the darkness, as he kissed her forehead, she felt that freedom too, _his_ freedom.

She didn't bother wrapping herself with a sheet - she simply rested her head on his side, his heartbeat lulling her to sleep.

It had been the best fuck of her life. She felt like kissing his sleeping form, like some stupid, giddy girl, but she was Atia of the Julii - she would not show such weakness.

**********

Despite what the other women of the nobility gossiped, she was not a whore. Even though she despised her husband, she had been faithful to him.

_Until Mark Antony..._

She didn't have any lovers but him. At least she was consistent in that. Every sigh, every scream, every moan had belonged to him. 

She was Atia of the Julii - she belonged to no one.

But she gave her body to him, winning the favours of the second most powerful man in Rome. It wasn't all sex - they had dinners together, they rode together, sometimes he would even agree to a bath that was not followed by passionate love-making. Atia had won Antony's sympathy and she was fucking proud of that. If her weak husband would not protect her, she knew her lover will. 

Then her husband died.

_Good riddance to him_ , she thought, keeping her children close during the ceremonies. She hadn't been angry or sad to watch his corpse burn.

She had been angry, however, when she caught Antony fucking two of her slaves during the banquet.

She was Atia of the Julii and she knew she could never show weakness. But perhaps it was the late hour, or the wine in her mouth, or the fire on her husband's pyre, or the fire in Antony's eyes ... she did not know.

What she did know is that she found herself crying, hitting his chest and occasionally slapping him, while he held her wrists and led her to her chambers.

He helped her out of her robes, tucked her in her bed and pressed a kiss to her hand.

"We shall not speak of this", he said, that irritating smirk tugging at his impossibly soft lips.

"We shall not."

"Have a good night, then."

Indeed, they never spoke of that night again.

She never cried in his presence again, nor did he come to her at night without spending it in her bed.

Atia hoped she would be allowed a fleeting moment of weakness.

**********

"We should get married."

Atia's intentions are not purely political, despite what she tells herself. She knew what selling herself for power meant and it had never felt like this. Comfortable. She could definitely live with his erratic heartbeat beneath her naked palm, the way they are entangled now. 

"Marriage? Why would we want that of all things?"

She is a bit insulted by his evasive answer, but she had dealt with him before. She knows how to approach him, knows what makes him tick (in all the good and the bad ways). She can persuade him to marry her. It would be a pleasurable business for both of them.

_She just wished it was him that had asked her._

"Perhaps I love you," she says teasingly.

She had never said those words before. It had taken them both by surprise. Under his fiery scrutiny, Atia is almost tempted to break eye contact, but, _no_ , she could not lose _now._ He is taken aback by her, that much she can tell. She surprised him. Atia of the Julii, claiming to love a man - what a sight to see.

"Ah, you're joking."

He dismisses it with a sly grin, obviously blocking any form of sentiment from the conversation. That's a pity - Atia was counting on sentiment. 

She tries to persuade him to stay. It was never necessary to do that before. He always left, wild wind passing and never settling - but always came back to her. Every slave, every other lover, every fight, every war... they would all pass and he would return to her. Every single time. She wished he would simply stay and not have to go at all. If they were married, he would be tied to her. He would be _hers._

Naturally, he has to be his boorish, stubborn self and go all noble on her at the most inopportune time.

He calls her a harpy. Well, he's being a cowardly dog and she hates him for it. She slaps him and, in the heat of the moment, seeing him so resolute and determined to do _the fucking right thing,_ she wants him so desperately she almost cries. Then he slaps her and her anger is so all-consuming that she screams bloody murder.

She hopes he dies in battle, really, she does. He deserves the worst that life has to offer. She hopes he dies a slow, painful death - bleeding out alone on a field or by the most stinging poison ever made by men. 

"GET OUT!"

She hopes he would come back alive so that she could continue to hate him. She simply hopes to see him again so that she could spit in his face.

No, she does not love Mark Antony at all.

**********

"Your mother is a vicious and heartless creature. But I find I am... wretched without her."

Atia scoffs; typical of him to compliment her while making it sound like an insult. How can a man be so charming and yet so ignorant at the same time?

"She's entirely infatuated with you."

Monstrous lie. Atia has never been, nor will she ever be _infatuated._ A strong, ugly word that would be more suitable for a young, clueless country girl rather than a powerful woman as herself. _Infatuated_... ludicrous, really. 

His smile is wide, like a tiger ready to prance on his prey and Atia is sure that, were she to take one more step forward, she would choke him with kisses, suck the life out of him. _Cowardly bastard..._

The hallway is narrow and dark and yet his eyes, glistening with humor and lust, are brighter than the stars on the night sky. Atia just wanted to go to her chambers ( _but not alone_ ) and get some sleep ( _after fucking him, of course)_. He sweeps down, in a flurry of raw passion, as he did countless of times before, and leans in for a kiss with a superior look on his face. 

Atia liked to play games and Antony was a worthy player - but she would not let him win.

She slaps him and it reverberates on the walls. Her palm stings and he honestly looks so surprised that, if she were a lesser woman, she would have laughed and kissed it better. 

But she is Atia of the Julli.

So she hits him again. It irks him, she knows it. He is practically a beggar on her doorstep, pleading her to take him.

_He didn't need to know she was far more desperate for him than he ever was for her._..

She grins up at him, good-naturedly. He took the hint: it was all water under the bridge. Jupiter be damned, she missed him. He kisses her with the force of an untamed wave, biting and nibbling until her lips were sore but she would not stop then, even if the sky fell down upon them. He grips at her with force, drawing her in, drinking her in, and she allows herself to get lost in him, for a single moment. She grips his shoulders, broad and big and so well known, clutching him as if he were her lifeline.

_Infatuated..._

As he swallows her moans, eating her soul with his sinful mouth, Atia begins to think that maybe a strong word would be somewhat suitable to describe them. Infatuation... it could be accurate. It could be. Were they different people in another world, she might say she was infatuated with him. She might even say she loved him.

But she is Atia of the Julii and he is Mark Antony and they are themselves - nothing can be done about that now.

Her screams grow louder by the second and he grips her neck meeting her mouth half-way. She can't even remember how to breathe and realises that she would gladly die like this - in his arms. 

Dreadfully dangerous idea, to be honest.

Still sheated in her, both panting and sweating like overused horses, he buries his face in her shoulder and kisses her softly.

"I do care for you, you know."

She smiles so wide her cheeks hurt. She smiles brightly, like a new born baby, taking in the wonders of his world. She smiles and pats his head and they both begin to laugh hysterically.

She cares for him too.

"I know."

He rollls over in one swift movement, grabbing her arm, pressing her into his chest. She feels protected, which is strange, because the most menacing thing in her house is him.

They fall asleep entangled like two lazy snakes and, for the first time, Atia is not the first to wake up in the morning.

**********

Atia was scared. She had never recognized to being frightened ever in her life, but now, despite her pride, she had to admit that she was terrified.

_It's important to me that I be the first to tell you what has happened..._

She swears, one of these days, it will be Servilia's doom. And she will act as a messenger of fate and squash the head of that malevolent old bitch. Who does she think she is, threatening a woman of the Julii?

Atia couldn't even shed a tear for her uncle - she was petrified. She never pictured her death as being ripped to pieces by an angry mob, but there they were. 

_Mark Antony is dead..._

If she were to dwell on that, she would fall apart. Having no news is worst than seeing his corpse in front of her. Maybe he lies headless in a ditch. Maybe he ran away. Maybe he was also stabbed to death on the Senate floor. Maybe he simply forgot about her.

Maybe, maybe, maybe... not knowing is corrosive and the last thing Atia needed. It was bad enough she had to listen to her greatest enemy gloating about murdering her family, blood of her blood. Bad enough having no time to even mourn for Caesar.

And now the bastard has left her too and she thinks - let them come. With the fury she feels surging in her veins, she thinks she can fight the mob off all on her own. _Let them come_.

Then _he_ bursts in, panting and cursing and _so utterly beautiful_ and she might throw herself at him then and there. But there are important things to take care of.

She cannot be a woman - she has to be a soldier. She had to gather her strength and be a pillar for her family. But that doesn't mean that she didn't want a pillar on her own.

"You may do as you like."

She is even more scared than before.

"What do you mean, I may do as I like? Why did you come here if I may do as I like?"

It spins endlessly around her head: _traitortraitortraitortraitor..._

He came back only to leave her. _Good riddance,_ she thinks, scared out of her wits to be left alone.

 _I want to see you run -_ she'll be damned if she'll give Servilia the satisfaction of running away, of doing her bidding.

"Of course you may come with me; I meant nothing by it."

There it is: _her_ Antony. Her lover. Her man. Her pillar was here and she could be strong again. Fuck Servilia, she would not run. She would fight back - vipers bite if provoked. And all her enemies would soon learn just how dangerous a lion and a viper could be.

"I don't want to go North. The North is ghastly."

And if she ever had any doubts that he cared for her, his smile, his warm, half-amused, half-loving smile, swept away all of her worries. 

It was only them: man and woman, ready to take on the world.

**********

Atia was a very persuasive woman. She knew she had what it takes to get the people around her (especially the men) to do her bidding. Sometimes, she would appear as a dishevelled, frightened maiden in search of a hero. Sometimes, she would appear as a Venus, faithful to her ancestry, a siren for men to worship.

This time, she chose another appearance altogether. She knew he liked her as she was, but an enhancement was always welcomed. She put on her fur coat that he gifted her for her birthday, she pinned her hair in the way she usually did, she took the horse she normally did when the two of then went riding - she was made entirely for Mark Antony.

His men had stopped and gaped at her - she smiled warmly. _That_ was the effect she counted on - a wild Minerva amongst the soldiers. 

But then, she saw _him._ Gaia and Gaius. Juno and Jupiter. _Her_ Jupiter. _Her_ Antony. In full battle attire, black armour, fur cloak, he looked every single bit the legendary warrior the people loved. And she loved it as well. 

He looked at her, with an unreadable look. Atia didn't like it. It felt like seeing her child all grown up, not needing her anymore - that wouldn't do. She couldn't be the one needing him while he had no use of her.

She poured all of her charm in a graceful descent off her horse and she approached him, all milk and honey. _He still was unreadable._

He came towards her, as a king greeting his queen (or an enemy). She smiled, realising that it was geniune - _oh, gods_ , she really was glad to see him. Their eyes mirrored each other: brown against green. Oh, how she longed for that brown...

"I'm not so sure about the beard."

It was a bit ridiculous, but that only made her want to kiss him even more. He looked oddly savage, barbaric even, and she had never admired him more.

He laughed. _Oh, how she missed his laugh._ He grabbed her face, so gently, so very gently, in a way he never did before, and kissed her. It wasn't fiery, it was not a lustful kiss - it was softly passionate, friendly and filled with something else entirely new ( _longing_ ).

The sex between them was always fast and insanely good, but that night, in a tent in the woods, among furs and battle plans, they made love in a way that Atia recalled to be very similar to the first time they met.

And, in the morning, she still had her way. Her lover and her son, _finally_ reconciled. She could see Octavian was displeased, but Antony was simply content with peace. It was laughable, really: she had never met a soldier who valued peace like he did.

"Goodbye, my love. I shall miss you."

She still felt giddy - she hadn't had such a good day ( _and night)_ in a while. She had missed him. And now, he had to miss her. The circularity of it was satisfying, but not ideal. Why must they always be apart?

"We are always saying goodbye, it's becoming tiresome."

Tiresome, indeed. She wished she could just _finally_ sit down, with her Antony by her side, without having to worry about wars and politics and power games for once in her life - she wished she didn't always have to be Atia of the Julii.

"One little campaign in Greece, and we shall never be parted again."

Her heart immediately began thudding louder, eyes growing larger. There it was - _hope._ A fucking nuisance, most of the time, but somehow fitting this time. He was smiling at her so lovingly and earnestly and Octavia's voice rang in her ears: _infatuation..._

He would win; him and her son would win. The lion and the snake, invincible on the battlefield. She had hope ( _gods, she was becoming a fucking optimist_ ) that they would win. They would both be home safe before they knew it.

Damn Servilia and Brutus and all their clan.

"You must bring me Brutus' head as a wedding gift."

There it was: out in the open. The bait was set. She glanced hopefully at him, from the corner of her eye - he didn't seem very phased by her comment. Thank Juno...

"Yes, a wedding..."

_Married? Why would we want that of all things?_

She unwillingly held her breath - the moment of truth.

"Yes, we shall have to think about that."

And those simple words, with such a powerful meaning, brought a bright, sincere smile on her face, making her look more youthful by the second.

Atia knew it was true. She knew it well enough: he would come back to her. They would be married and they would be happy. All would be welll.

Her happiness was absolute.

Perhaps he did love her after all...

**********

Atia couldn't take it anymore.

Three days, constantly, the same maddening rhythm, the same words repeated over and over again. She had to admire her dedication - it also terrified her. Her head was hurting and she found herself having to refuse three perfectly good fucks that Antony had proposed to her.

She couldn't take it anymore. 

She dashed out, leaving her breakfast untouched, Octavia and Antony following suit. There she was: a grey, ghastly phantom, eyes black as soot, mumbling, blending with the stone pavement on the street.

She wished Antony would hold her hand instead of looking at Servilia like a curious, tactful cat. Bastard.

"Here I am: speak your piece and then be gone."

When she looked up at her, Atia felt a shudder pass through her blood and bones. She was a powerful woman - of course she had enemies. But never in her life had anyone looked at her with so much hatred. It was highly unnerving.

"Gods below, I am Servilia of the sacred and most ancient Junii, of whose bones the seven hills of Rome are built. I summon you to listen."

Her voice was the croak of a dying creek; Atia had never before heard such a disturbing sound. It was strong and quiet, calm and chaotic at the same time. The sound of a vengeful mother...

_You must bring me Brutus' head as a wedding gift._

_Marriage? Why would we want that of all things?_

_Perhaps I love you..._

_Goodbye, my love..._

No, she wouldn't dare. Antony, Octavia, Octavian... she wouldn't _dare._

"This woman... send her bitterness and despair and let her taste nothing but ashes and iron for all of her life."

Atia was transfixed - she knew curses had no effect if you didn't look the person in the eye. She knew she didn't believe in curses. She kept her eyes locked on Servilia's inhuman orbs the whole time, challenging her. _Come on, you crazy bitch, give me your best._

_"_ Gods of the underworld, all that I have left I will give to you if you will make it so."

She really should have seen it coming: no sane person would go through such lengths to end a circle of revenge. Servilia plunged the blade in her heart and fell to the ground, still dignified even in rags and soot and blood - she could understand what Caesar had seen in her. 

She saw flashes of gold and human skin and blood - and Antony. A trick of the light. He was standing right next to her.

"Now... _that_ is an exit."

Atia wanted to slap him for such a comment - and to kiss him for breaking the spell that old hag had put on her. 

_Don't get any ideas..._

She felt as if struck by lightning. Where did that thought come from? No, of course he wouldn't. Why would he - none of them had any plans of dying anytime soon.

 _Gold, skin, sand, blood, sword -_ no, not her Antony.

Really, she was only giving satisfaction to a corpse. She had nothing to fear. She would not let the crazy musings of a madwoman to come between her and happiness. 

_Send her bitterness and despair..._

Antony grabbed her by the hand and Octavia by the shoulders and led them gently insde. 

_Oh, fuck off, you crazy bitch -_ Atia would not dwell on death.

**********

"I love you."

Atia said those words that came so easily to her lips and she felt an exhilaration that didn't compare to anything she had ever felt in her life. _I love you, I love you, I love you..._ why hadn't she said it sooner? Silly of her, really. They were such beautiful words, and put together, they carried such a beautiful meaning. 

"We need to talk."

 _The wedding._ Of course, there were a lot of details to discuss. Atia loved to organize parties but this was a wedding. _Her_ wedding. Everything had to be... special. Everything had to be perfect. She would be the bride. She would marry Mark Antony. The man whom she lov...

" _I_ need to talk."

_Atia of the Julii, I call for justice..._

_Send her bitterness and despair for all of her life..._

Atia wasn't worried. Anything that he had to say, she wanted to hear - it was him saying it, after all.

"Atia, I can't... I cannot marry you."

Silly of her, really. Of course he wouldn't. Everyone knew they were lovers, everyone knew she loved him ( _everyone but her, apparently),_ everyone knew a woman her age couldn't bear child. 

Quite silly. She would give away her lover to give her daughter a husband. Life was well and truly bitter and desperate, wasn't it? Servilia, fucking old hag, had been right.

_I want to see you run_... yes, perhaps she should have run. Far away - away from Rome, away from Antony and Octavia and that _vicious little serpent_ that used to be her son. She should have run, she should have left.

He was looking at her with pity, like she was a beggar asking for coins. No, she wouldn't eat the scraps at anyone's table, either Antony's or Ocatvian's.

"Then why are you here, betraying my daughter? Do grow some balls and be a man - you are about to be married to a woman of the Julii. I will not have you taint our name with your debauchery."

"Atia..."

"Mark Antony, you leave this chamber at once!"

She rolled over, wrapping herself quickly with a damp sheet, getting out of the bed. A shrine of sin, that's what it was. She would perhaps burn it later.

"Atia..."

"GET OUT, YOU FUCKING COWARD!"

She almost dared him to slap her or yell. But he simply looked at her ( _again with the damned pity)_ and said nothing. 

_Atia of the Julii, I call for justice..._ Fucking justice indeed. 

_Perhaps I love you..._ perhaps she shouldn't. 

**********

Atia was never good at doing what she was told. She had always despised rules, especially those that didn't suit her explicitly. She loved a good sin.

And Mark Antony was her best sin.

His face in the throes of passion was a perfect sculpture, the curve of his lips and the twinkle in his eyes just enough to drive her over the edge. His skin was a map of a world entirely her own, that she knew so well she could get hopelessly lost in it. The flicking shadows of the candlelight were darkening her favourite spots on his body and she was _so_ drunk on him. 

The scratches she'd left on his back were blooming like thorned roses, creating a perfect picture meant only for her eyes to see. He hungrily kissed her neck and she arched into him, holding onto his shoulders for dear life.

_Wrong, wrong, so wrong, so deliciously wrong..._

Atia didn't care. Her son and morality and the fucking Republic be damned. He was hers and she would not let him go, not for Octavian, not for Rome, not for all the gold in the world.

He rakes his teeth on her open throat, swift fingers teasing her moist, open folds and, although she wouldn't admit it, she's putty in his hands. He licks her pulse point and sets two fingers in between her lower lips and she moans _just so._ He swallows her mewls with open mouthed kisses and she trails messy lines down towards his shaft, feeling him in her palm, so warm and familiar and _hers._

Octavian can't take that away from her. Not now, not ever.

Her hips thrust into him and he grunts into her mouth, their violent love erupting in glamorous waves of pleasure. She's his and he's hers. She didn't even get the chance to recover her breath when he whispers softly in her ear, so low that she might have imagined it.

"I love you."

She laughs - it's the only thing she can do instead of bursting into tears. She loves him, too, of course she does. But no... she said it once and almost lost him. Never again.

"I do am sorry, you know. I should have fought for this, I..."

"There's no need."

They were both there, weren't they? What matter?

They were alive and well and loved each other.

Atia would never say those cursed words again, but she knew it was true.

Infatuation, indeed...

**********

Atia hated her son. She loathed him and would have cursed the bitch that birthed him to Hades and back, if she wouldn't have been the wretched soul to bring such a monster in the world. 

How could he have grown to be such a heartless bastard? It was her fault, really - she knew it. But the pain of separation was not dimmed by the knowledge that it was her failing as a mother that led her son to such a path of moral depravity.

Locked in her own home, like some common villain or whore: the diagrace was too much for her to bear. She was restless, like a beast in a cage, cursing and throwing tantrums, with Octavia following suit.

Her poor daughter. Twice kept apart from her love - once by marriage, once by truth. The fucking truth... Atia much preferred lying. It was easier and more comfortable for everyone. 

_Perhaps I love you..._

_One little campaign in Greece and we shall never be apart again..._

_I do care for you, you know..._

_I do am sorry..._

All filthy, miserable lies.

There was no easy life for a woman. Either you fail as a lover, or as a mother. Atia had failed at both. At least, this she vows on Juno, she will be here, now, by her daughter's side - united by one common enemy. She would let no harm come to Octavia anymore. Sky may fall upon her or lightning strike her down - she did not care, as long as her Octavia would not suffer.

There was a commotion outside, but Atia couldn't be bothered to care. Why should she, when none cared for her?

"ATIA!"

She could've sworn she grew wings. She dahsed to the gate as if her life depended on it ( _it really did)_. And there he was, beautiful as ever, looking as bleak as she felt. All she wanted to do was run to him and put her arms around him.

 _I want to see you run..._ yes, she would run. She would run to him, then they would run away together. Her heart was soaring: he came for her.

Perhaps he did love her...

" _I love you..."_

Damned words - they would not fucking leave her alone.

She wanted to strangle those stupid guards one by one, but, once agian, her Antony was the voice of reason. 

"Atia, calm. Leave it be."

How could she? How could she let it be when he was standing _right there_ , just out of her reach, so close and yet so far.

_Atia of the Julii, I call for justice..._

Fuck Servilia of the Junii, fuck her and all of her kind. A plague on justice, she simply wanted him. One man. How was that too much to ask?

He was leaving. Of course he was. Octavian, the little monster, would not change his mind. Atia's rage was hot and boiling, like a fire storm. Her son's fury was cold and calculated, like an asp preparing for the prefect moment to strike. She was chaos, he was order. An order so strict she absolutely despised it. And him. She despised her son - she truly was a wretched mother.

"When the time comes, I'll send for you."

Empty words, she knew that. Empty promises. But she was so desperate, looking into his eyes and seeing such _sadness,_ that she dropped her guard.

Foolish, really. She dropped her walls, all the carefully crafted gates, and allowed herself to hope. To believe. To have faith in him.

He would send for her, she was sure of it.

"When will that be?"

He was standing right in front of her and she already missed him. She was seeing him, plain and clear in broad daylight, and he was still gradually becoming a ghost that she longed for.

"We must be patient."

 _We. We must be patient._ Atia was not a patient woman - she was used to getting things done her way. Relinquishing her power to her scheming son had been a hard blow to her pride. 

"Promise me, promise me you'll send for me!"

She was slightly aware of how miserable she sounded, half-expecting to see him grin childishly at her and tease her, as he usually did. She would have given her soul to see him smile.

But he didn't. He was as stoic as a statue, as he never was in her presence. He seemed... resigned. Not angry or raging or full of irony: she knew those sides of him. She loved those sides of him. Now, all fight seemed to have left him.

"On my life, I promise."

_I promise, I promise, I promise..._

_Stay alive then, please._

_Stay alive for me._

_For us..._

He took her hand, so tenderly, as if it was a broken wing. Like a lover cradling her palm. Like a husband saying his bittersweet farewell to his wife.

 _His wife..._ she would have given her life to have been his wife.

There was nothing else left to say. He was leaving Rome. Leaving her. She wanted to launch herself in his arms and beg him to take her with him. 

_I'll send for you..._

She had to believe him. She had to have faith. 

She wished he would have smiled for the last time.

_Atia of the Julii, I call for justice..._

No, no justice. No more pain. He would come for her. He promised.

She let him leave, without looking back, so he couldn't see the tears brimming her sad eyes.

**********

Atia was no stranger to love-making. She knew what power she held over men and she relished in it. She knew just how much charm she should use, just how much coldness would be enough to get a man into her bed.

So finding out that her lover had succumbed to another woman was a powerful attack on her pride.

_Not her heart..._

She had known that Egyptian strumpet was no good the moment she had laid her eyes on her, but she never imagined Antony, _the Mark Antony,_ would be so fucking stupid as to fall for her vulgar, blatant advances. Such a silly notion, really. She was fresh meat, a new exotic taste. And he was stranded, exiled, far away from home - of course he would succumb to her. And after all, why shouldn't he? 

Atia most definitely had no use for him, so why should he still hang onto her?

_Good riddance,_ she thought, although she felt both sadness and anger at the mere idea.

She used wine ( _her fifth glass that evening)_ to wash down the series of curses threatening to escape her sour throat. Stupid men - always thinking with what's between their legs.

"It's a beautiful evening, isn't it?"

She almost dropped the glass. Another soldier was in front of her, another cheeky smirk, another man waiting for Atia of the Julii to fall in their arms.

"Indeed it is," she offered him a dazzling smile.

He turned out to be a mediocre fuck. Having a big sword really means nothing if you don't know how to use it.

_Antony was a skilled general. He knew how to use a sword properly._

Atia drowned out every thought of that bastard with alcohol and moans, but no matter how hard she tried, she still felt _him_ inside her, still remembered _his_ hands on her skin, still recalled _his_ taste, still longed for _him._ Only him. 

The coward wouldn't even leave her alone with her thoughts, always torturing her. So it was no surprise that when she _finally_ reached her peak, his name was the first that came to her lips.

It was bound to happen, really. She didn't even know this soldier's name, come to think of it.

_Antony, Antony, Antony..._

It was all that her head could wrap itself around. He was nothing more than an irritating sensation deep in her mind that just wouldn't fuck off, no matter how hard she tried.

She slept alone that night. And the night after.

Atia stopped taking lovers after that.

**********

Ever since she was a little child, Atia had liked riding. It was quite unladylike, but her father insisted and she began to see it as a very pleasant pastime. She had a fondness of horses that never left her for as long as she lived.

That night, she was out riding again.

It was not a horse she was sitting on - it was a lion. Golden mane soft beneath her hands, warm fur tickling her legs, graceful gallop lulling her into a sense of safety that she hadn't felt in a very long time. His roar was deafening, but her cheerful laugh rang even louder in her ears. 

It was not a green grassy field they were running on - it was a foamy sea wave. They were galloping on the open water, the shore long left behind, and Atia had never felt more free.

"Atia."

She knew that voice - _his_ voice. 

"Atia."

She nuzzled the lion's mane. It was as soft as _his_ hands on her cheek. 

"Atia, wake up."

She could now see a large bay in front of her - marble statues of strange gods, busy ships. She somehow recognised Alexandria even if she had never been there. She was arriving in Egypt.

"Atia, wake up..."

She knew she was going to see him, she knew he sent for her, she knew he would welcome her into his open arms, drown her in his scent, so masculine and familiar...

He had sent for her.

"ATIA, WAKE UP!"

She awoke with a start.

This was the day. She knew it.

She felt it in every fibre of her body, the knowledge coursing through her like warm honey. This was the day. The day he would send for her. The smile beginning to form on her sleepy face felt foreign, but the sensation was exhilarating.

This was the day.

Atia couldn't even remember the last time she smiled in earnest. After _he_ had gone away, all of her smiles had been forced grimaces or tight, dangerous grins. Today, she felt as lightheaded as a girl drunk for the first time. She sang a song about lovers as she dressed, danced lightly on the way to the breakfast table and kissed her daughter warmly on the cheek. Octavia eyed her as if she truly had finally lost her mind, but she couldn't bring herself to care. This was the day he would be coming for her.

"I have a good feeling about today."

She felt that the weight of such happiness was lost when put out loud into words, especially after Octavia began, in her true fashion, to act as pessimistic as ever and try to dissuade her from her hopes.

Yes, _hope._ It felt refreshing to be able to utter that word again. _Hope._ It tasted sweet on her mouth, similar to the way his kisses used to taste: like wine and independence. 

_Atia of the Julii, I call for justice..._

_Oh, fuck off, you stupid hag,_ Atia cursed at her head. Yes, justice was coming. After all these years of loneliness and doubt and sorrow... finally.

He would send for her. She was certain of it. Maybe having hope was a weakness, but Atia thought she would be allowed a moment of weakness after years of torment. She giggled - she missed being so utterly, carelessly happy.

That was the last time Atia was ever happy...

**********

Atia had never been broken before. 

She had known pain and fear - of course she had. Her own daughter growing up to hate her, her own son making her hate him, her uncle murdered in cold blood, Servilia's death... but it never really mattered. _He_ had always been there, arrogant and real, ready to crack a joke or kiss her neck and remind her that all would be well.

She was not even able to say goodbye...

_Atia of the Julii, I call for justice..._

Yes, justice. Atia thought she might have deserved that after all. She was the one who lied, who schemed, who tortured, who betrayed. Who had no honor. But the gods really didn't have to punish her by taking _his_ honor away.

_Nobody can speak to Antony without she says so..._

She could rip that Egyptian whore with her bare hands, queen or not. She didn't care about anything anymore - she felt cold anger surging through her, leaking out of her in salty tears staining the dirty pillow in the ship's cabin.

She felt trapped. She couldn't breathe. He wouldn't even see her - she waited all those years, travelled all this time and for what? To be treated as lesser than a slave. To be shunned from his doorstep. Her pride was tattered, her heart was broken, her lungs were unable to help her exhale - she felt as if in a free fall.

She had loved him. Gods know, she still did, so vividly and vibrant as if he had only left yesterday. Time did nothing to diminish the feelings - if anything, it worsened them. She was utterly, painfully, deeply and irrevocably in love with him. Fuck him.

She hated him. Gods know, she hated him with all her heart, so explosive and destructive. Time did nothing to dminish the feelings - if anything, it worsened them. She hated him like a lover hates her cheating partner, like a wife hates her lying husband, like a stray dog hates his master. 

She loved him so much it was tearing her apart.

_Perhaps I love you..._

No, there was no doubt - she loved him. 

And he loved another woman that kept him on a leash, a prisoner in a golden palace, among opium, naked bodies and music. Why would he want to see her? Why would he want to go back to her?

_Promise me... promise me you'll send for me_

Lies, all of them... miserable fucking lies.

_On my life, I promise..._

He had been an honorable man back then. He still looked at her as if she were his everything. He had still had some fight left in him, his blood had still been boiling. He had still been her Antony back then.

_On my life, I promise..._

_Die, then._

**********

Ever since she was a little child, Atia had liked riding. But this time, she was drowning. 

Her lion galloping on stormy waves had let out a pained, heart-wrenching roar and thrown her in the cold water. She tried to cry out for him to come back, but he would not even glance at her. His chest was impaled by a golden gladius and red blood was staining his mighty chest. He was letting out coarse groans, as if asking for her help, but all Atia could do was sink further down in the dark depth of the ocean and watch as the lion, _her_ lion, drowned along with her.

Black water was filling her lungs, entering her chest, choking her heart and stomach with its icy blades. She was crying out, almost ripping her vocal cords, but no sounds were coming out.

She was dying along with her lion.

_She was having a nightmare_. 

Atia woke up screaming, clutching at the cold sheets until her knuckles turned white. She was searching frantically for a hand to hold in the darkness, but there was no one there. No warm body to hold her, no witty smile to irritate her, no soft or dirty whispers to comfort her. No lion. No lover. No husband.

Just her. Atia of the Julii. All alone. 

_He was dying._ _Her Antony was dying._

She wasn't a religious person, but she felt the chill and the pain straight in her bones. She felt old and wrecked and _so alone._ She knew she was right - this was no ordinary dream.

It felt like the vision she had when Servilia died.

_Gold, skin, sand, blood, sword - Antony dead in a throne room._

It was really happening. Her Mark Antony was dying.

She couldn't help it - she was crying. Hot tears were flowing down her cheeks, her breathing ragged, her heartbeat erratic ( _not in the good way, not in the way sex with him had made her heart hammer out of her chest)._

She didn't care about his wife. About his crimes. About his downfall. About his infidelity. About his lies. All she wanted was to find out he was safe. In her embrace or the Egyptian trollop's - it really didn't matter.

_Atia of the Julii, I call for justice._

_Send her bitterness and despair for all of her life..._

_By Juno and Jupiter, let my lover be safe. Hades, don't take him away from me. Dis, don't listen to Servilia. Don't listen to her._

No justice. No atonement. _Please, let him be safe..._

Futile childish dreaming, really. He was dead. _Dead, gone._ She knew it. She felt it.

That morning, she was inconsolable. She was a bleak augury, haunting her own home, biting her nails and ripping flowers. She could not see the sun or the chamber or Octavia... she was blind and deaf and dead.

Her Antony was dead as well.

Then Octavian came in. The mother in her fainted and the lover woke up shouting. 

"Mother..."

_You're not my son._

"Antony is dead"

_On my life, I promise..._

_Die, then._

She already knew. She had no reason to grieve. He had been dead to her since a long time ago...

**********

Atia was a very skilled liar.

"I am sorry."

She laughed. A boisterous laugh, out loud, more fitting in the mouth of a lowly centurion than the one of high-bred lady. She was a very skilled liar - after all, it takes one to know one.

She hated it when her children lied to her.

"Why would you be sorry?"

Octavian at least had the decency to look straight into her eyes, blue clashing against green. He had very cold eyes. When he was little, Atia loved that clear blue colour, but now, she found herself aching to drown the pang of pain in her abdomen with the warmth of mirthful, brown eyes. 

She missed looking a lion straight in the eyes, rather than a serpent.

"I am sorry for your loss."

Atia cocked her head to the side, unable to comprehend when her son had lost his last bit of empathy that was left in him. _No, you're not sorry at all._

_"_ It was bound to happen - one way or another. You both started this war well knowing that it would end only with the other's death. I can only thank the gods my son survived."

There was a bitterness in her last words that Atia couldn't keep down as much as she tried. Octavian, clever beast that he was, sensed it as well.

"Would you have it rather been the other way around?"

Atia didn't even blink.

"No."

It was the truth - the harsh, cruel, ugly truth that would haunt her for the rest of her life. She would indeed rather see her lover dead than pray at the funeral of her son. That didn't make the loss hurt less, or did it dissuade the nagging voice in her head that told her none of this would make her a good mother. Her children hated her, her lover was gone, she had no family left - Atia had never felt so alone in her life.

She was very sorry to realize that Octavian - it was _Caesar_ now - had inherited his cruelty from her. She taught him well.

Atia would never forgive her former son for breaking her so.

***********

Atia never cried. It was a sign of weakness and the Julii showed no weakness. She would never let anyone see her hurting, pain eating her slowly from the inside. 

But she had never felt pain like this.

Because she had never loved like this before.

Her mother had tried to warn her, once. She took her in her arms, brushed her hair away from her face and told her something in a very stoic voice. Like a soldier. Women are supposed to be soldiers, to fight until their last breath.

"Don't ever make the mistake of falling in love, Atia. It brings nothing but sorrow."

Atia hadn't been listening. She was playing with her earring and payed no attention to her mother's words.

_Atia of the Julii, I call for justice._

Justice had indeed caught up with her. Justice for not listening. Justice for being a poor mother. Justice for being a liar. Justice for being a cruel, heartless viper. Justice for pride. Justice for lust. Justice for love.

Atia of the Julli had to pay for her crimes.

Atia of the Julli did not deserve love. Not from her son. Not from her daughter. Not from the man whom she would have given her soul for.

She tried very hard not to cry. She showed no sign of emotion when her son delievered the news. She was very proud of her disinterested half-smile and her quick dismissal of the news. She would not dwell on such things. She had a banquet to organize - her son had come home. Her son had won. Her _Caesar_ had won.

She spent her entire day rotating around the house and giving out orders. Octavia had looked at her the entire time as if she was a fragile vase ready to burst and break at the slightest touch. No, Atia didn't feel fragile. She felt like all the power of a volcano was boiling inside her, burning her from the inside out. Organizing people, organizing events - she was good at that, she could handle it. She was familiar with it.

She was not familiar with the taste of ash in her mouth and the stinging of iron in her chest.

_Let her taste nothing but ashes and iron. Atia of the Julli, I call for justice._

Justice indeed. She wished Servilia was still there. Still alive and well and so utterly infuriating. She wished she could spit in her face. She wished she could slap her. She wished she could tear her eyes out and wring her neck and eat her heart.

If there was any justice, Servilia didn't deserve to die so easily, so soon. Atia almost wished it was her that died that day. She wished she had plunged a knife in her belly while she was still happy, while she still had someone to live for. Back when she didn't hate her son. Back when Octavia was still looking angrily at her, not with pity. Back when Antony still held her hand and her heart.

She wondered how he died. That much Octavian refused to tell her. A cheap gesture of chivalry. " _To spare her from heartache,"_ he said. An ignorant. Heartache was the only thing she knew anymore and he took away even that.

She hoped that he hadn't died alone. She hoped he hadn't died scared and cold and surrounded by enemies. She hoped he had had a familiar, friendly face somewhere close. She hoped ( _gods, what had become of her)_ he had died with _her_ , in _her_ embrace, in _her_ youthful, graceful, Egyptian arms, lulling him to sleep for the last time. 

She had never pictured it like this. He was a warrior, a soldier: he was always in constant danger. But, somehow, she never thought it possible. She had always seen them both, together, old and grey and _happy_ in a big bed with soft sheets, holding each other and whispering sweet nothings until Hades took them. Together. At the same time. 

At least that part came true: she died with him.

Atia was tired. So very tired. Tired of parties, tired of wine, tired of hate and betrayal and lies and backstabbing. Tired of fighting. She was tired of fucking everything. She wanted the old days back- she missed being able to read her son's stubborn, calculating eyes.

She missed the spark of lion eyes, she missed his laugh, his perverse jokes, his body, his hands, his mouth. She missed his irritating everything. She missed him so much.

Atia never cried. 

But she wasn't Atia anymore: she was a widow without a husband. A nobody.

She left the party without saying a word. Octavia saw her; she tried to go to her, but she motioned for her to go back. Atia was alone. She had been alone for a long time already - what was one more night of solitude?

Reaching her chamber, she realised she hated it. It was too familiar: the walls echoed with groans of pleasure, the sheets held his scent, the mirrors reflected his face. Her room was haunted by a dead man.

She ordered her slaves to burn the bed. They all looked at her as if she had lost her wits, but she simply threatened to whip them and they hurried to carry the wooden monstrosity in the yard. The party was raging - that was good. No one would see her pyre then.

The flames were licking slowly at the bed and she felt as if it was her own heart burning. He was gone - dead. Because of Octavian. Beacuse of Caesar. Because of her. Atia knew she was to blame - who else? Who else had turned their son into a ruthless monster?

All those nights lost in each other, all the casual sex, all the comfortable love-making... it was bound to burn at a certain time. Violent pleasures end in tragedy - all the poets knew that. Pity Atia never really cared for poetry.

In a way, she was glad he had shunned her in Alexandria. That way, she didn't picture him as a depraved being with kohl on his eyes, silk on his body and fog in his mind. That way, she still saw him as he had always been for her - the stoic soldier, vowing in daylight to do the noble thing. To come back for her.

_Atia of the Julii, I call for justice..._

A lie for a thousand lies she said all of her life - a lie that hurt like a thousand knives. Servilia had her revenge. It was done, she was done. The gods had their revenge.

_Let her taste nothing but ash and iron..._

The smoke had already entered her chest, her eyes were watering, she was tasting ash in her mouth... ash and iron. She had to bow to Servilia - her efficiency had been indeed deadly.

Octavian had seen her pyre. Of course he did - snakes always picked weaker victims. He looked at the burning bed, understanding crossing his handsome features. He was as handsome as the concealed blade of a dagger. Atia really hated her son. She loved him too much not to hate him.

"Mother, what are you doing?"

_Are you mourning?_

He didn't ask, but the question was tugging at his lips in a condescending smirk. She was Atia of the Julii - she still had some fight in her. Even now, even in death, he still felt the need to compete with Antony. 

_You poor fool, I loved you both._

She would not give him the satisfaction of winning.

"No, of course not. Merely paying a homage to the benevolent gods that saw you safely home."

Her teary eyes told a different story...

**********

That night, Atia did something she never thought she would do - she begged.

She went to Servilia's memorial (fine, two things she never thought she would do) and laid down a single white flower. 

"It's all your fault, you know, you crazy, fanatic bitch," she gritted her teeth. "Are you happy now?"

The rain was pouring outside, thunder roaring in the skies and it was so loud, she could barely hear her own thoughts. 

"Are you happy now, you fucking coward? Answer me! Are you happy?".

The stone was silent and the only things Atia could hear were the raging storm outside and her own hammering heartbeat. 

"Answer me!"

The silence was deafening. 

"ANSWER ME!"

Atia could not hold it in anymore. She pounded her fists on the cold plaque, fingers bruising, screaming her lungs out, howling in a voice so ragged and hoarse she could hardly believe came from within herself.

She understood now how Servilia was able to sit for days, covered in soot, mumbling and shouting curses in front of her house. She was beginning to think that she could grow roots here, staring defiantly at Servilia's memorial, knowing well enough that the hag is most probably delighted by her despair.

She threw herself onto the stone again, clawing at it ferociously, letting out inhuman roars, until she drew blood from her hands.

Then she fell to her knees and began to cry.

Icy, salty tears falled down her hollowed cheeks, but Atia could not find it in herself to care anymore. She grasped at her shoulders, trying to engulf herself in an embrace that would never actually come. She took the white flower and trampled it, leaving the petals scattered on the floor.

She wondered if flowers have feelings. If they don't, she would have very much liked to be a flower.

She looked up and begged for forgiveness. From Servilia or Brutus or Caesar or her children or Antony... she did not know. Perhaps from all of them. 

She wished she could have held Servilia's hand. She wished she could have embraced Caesar, apologized to Brutus for his early death, danced more with her children when they were little. She wished she could have been a better mother. She wished she could have kissed Antony goodbye.

She leaved more numb than before, but her anger was gone.

After that, Atia ended up visiting Servilia's memorial more often.

**********

Atia knew imagination was not her forte.

She liked to think of herself as a lucid realist, but, watching her son perfectly content with parading a corpse around the city to stand as proof for his greatness, she wished she had the talent to get lost in her own mind, her own imagination. 

She wished she could simply unsee his pale, still ridiculously handsome face, tied and walked through the city like some common Gaellic king or savage ruler. He was still a Roman, damn it, and they were treating him like a traitor. 

She wished she could unsee his lifeless face. She wished that he could remain preserved in her mind that day before he left, as the man who craddled her hand and promised her he would not leave her alone.

Atia was not a gullible woman, far from it - his faithless love had been the only lie she ever believed. 

That didn't mean she couldn't try to lie to herself.

_Mother, Antony is dead._

Her first reaction had been denial. _Ha! I'll believe it when I see it_ , she thought instantly. Because it couldn't be true. He would not stoop so low as to leave her well and truly alone. Not like this. He wouldn't do _that_ to her.

Her heart had been torn and she had had to put it back together again and again - until there were simply too many pieces to gather. His refusal to meet her in Egypt had been the last drop of pain she could digest anymore and she had been a wreck ever since then... a beautiful wreck, all the sorrow hidden beneaty a veil of charm. He truly had wrecked her, hadn't he?

It had been a pretty game, the one that they played. Coy smiles and indecent touches, aggressive affections and turbulent love. Atia of the Julii had always loved to play games and, most importantly, she had loved winning. Getting involved with Mark Antony had just meant playing another game, albeit a dangerous one. Atia had loved danger.

But falling in love with Mark Antony... that was Atia losing.

It was bound to happen, really. Inevitable... pretending to be in love for so long led inexorably to actually falling in love. And Atia found herself in the most excruciating free fall. 

While she was falling, her son had been rising. A serpent dressed in righteous masks, he was now the most important man in Rome. Which made Atia the first woman - this was her dream come true, the one thing that she fought and betrayed for her entire life. And now... nothing. Not even the slimmest shade of satisfaction. No bravado, no laurels, no crown - just an unbearable agony. No one could say the gods didn't have a sense of irony, Atia's entire life was proof of that. 

It must have been very rewarding for Servilia to see. To see her enemy succumbed to weakness. To see her enemy howling in pain. To see her wallowing in misery on the happiest day of her life.

Atia would never be happy again.

She would miss him for the rest of her life. She would watch the days pass - his smile was the only sun she wanted to see. She would hear the breeze - his breathing on her neck was the only wind she wanted to feel. She would hear music and singing - his laughter was the only sound she wanted to hear. She would pass her time putting on false veil over veil, rebuilding the shields he took down. 

Fate was cruel, more so than Atia had ever been. He died for another woman when Atia had already given him her life. Her ego ought to have been wounded, but all she felt were the shards of flaming glass piercing her heart. He died in a foreign land in a Roman way.

_Now, that is an exit..._

She hoped he was proud of his death. She cursed Servilia's name for putting the poisonous idea in his head.

Agrippa had been kind enough to tell her how he met his end. Roman soldier in an Egyptian palace, Roman companion as he mourned an Egyptian queen, Roman sword in Roman body. She had been proud. 

She hoped, in a futile way, that he knew she loved him. That he thought of her, even for an ephemeral moment, before he died. That he might have recalled that, once upon a long time ago, he had loved her.

_On my life, I promise..._

_Die, then._

She had been his doom and she knew it. She had cursed him and she knew it. She wanted to destroy him, to bring his downfall, to see hik come to her again to beg. But, in his own rebellious usual manner, he reamined his irritatingly noble self even in his last moments.

He died for love and so did she.

**********

"Grandmother, have you ever been in love?"

Antonia's question is so unexpected, Atia thanks whatever gods there are that she was sitting down on the couch, otherwise her knees might have given way.

"Such a silly question, Antonia, really. Why would you ask such things?"

"She has began to read poetry. She particularly likes verses of romance," Octavia intervenes, as if to apologize for her daughter.

Octavian - no, _Caesar -_ seems to go through a difficult time maintaining his usual demure appearance. _Good_ , Atia thinks bitterly, _let him squirm._

"So, have you?" Selene inquires, her damned beautiful, big brown eyes staring openly at her.

But Atia cannot hate her. Those aren't Egyptian eyes - those are Roman eyes.

"Yes, indeed I have. Once..."

The girls seem ecstatic. Helios, despite his obvious disdain for such girl-talk, cocks an eyebrow in curiosity.

His eyes are definitely Egyptian. 

"What was he like?"

"Was he tall?"

"Was he a soldier?"

"Did he have a horse?"

"Did he give you flowers?"

"Was he clever?"

"Was he brave?"

"Were you married?"

"Was he handsome?"

Atia smiles, despite herself. She looked at her son - not Caesar, _Octavian -_ making eye contact with his unreadable expression. Vibrant green clashed against stoic blue... he may not have been her son anymore, but she was still his mother. Matricide is a punishable crime and she would never forgive him. She was still the worst viper in the nest and she knew how to hold a grudge. 

She was growing tired of his cold blue - she wanted her familiar brown back.

She answered in a voice void of emotion. Two can play that game... and she didn't plan on losing that one. She maintained the uncomfortable eye contact as she spoke.

" _He was magnificent_..."

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, this turned out waayyyy longer than I expected! :)  
> I really hope you guys liked it - it was a lot of fun to explore Atia's mindset. 
> 
> The comparison I kept making about Antony being a lion was inspired by his line that "12 manger dogs can kill a lion" - I thought it was a very evocative line. I also played around with the idea of supernatural... It seemed to me that they hinted in the show that Servilia's curses actually brought all the tragedies and it seemed an interesting idea to tackle in a fanfic...
> 
> So, yeah... as always, please leave a comment! I read all of them and highly appreciate the feedback!


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